


Unspoken

by Michelle



Series: Small Alterations [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF, The Passion of Darkly Noon
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Sex with Fictional Characters, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-05
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle/pseuds/Michelle
Summary: Between all the buzz of his latest movie, all Orlando really wants is a little quiet.
Relationships: Orlando Bloom/Clay, Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Series: Small Alterations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195628





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Unspoken  
> Author: Michelle  
> Email: michelle [at] waking-vision.com  
> Summary: Between all the buzz of his latest movie, all Orlando really wants is a little quiet.   
> Series: Small Alterations (follows “Temptation” and “Sharing Warmth”)  
> Pairing: Viggo/Orlando, Orlando/Clay  
> Timeline: May 2007  
> Beta: Namarie  
> Genre: crossover, slash, romance  
> Rating: NC17  
> Disclaimer: The Passion of Darkly Noon is property of Fugutive Features. Viggo and Orlando still belong only to themselves. I, in turn, don’t even own a spot of grass by the river, poor me.  
> Author’s Note: The Passion of Darkly Noon is a bizarre little movie, but Viggo is his usually hot self in it, so I couldn’t pass by this chance!

“ _Favete Linguis.”_ (Horace)

~*~

“ _Will there be a happy ending for Will and Elizabeth?”_

“ _How did you like filming with Johnny Depp again?”_

“ _Which of the three movies is your favourite?”_

“ _What are you wearing today?”_

“ _Are you dating someone right now?”_

“ _I hate all those questions,” Orlando said into the phone. “It’s like going round in circles. Everywhere I go and attend a premier, journalists ask exactly the same things, you know?”_

“ _I know,” another man’s voice came through the line. In situations like this the voice was always calm and supportive. That was why Orlando would go to no other than Viggo with the things that bothered him._

_They would talk at least once a day, whereever they were, just to touch base and hear the other’s voice. On bad days, only the promise of that phone call kept Orlando going. It was a lifeline connecting him with home and all he held dear. Sometimes, they would only have time to talk for a minute, for a quick “how are you” and “I love you”. On other occasions, though, they would talk the night away._

“ _It’s just... it makes me feel like a thing. I’m simply the one whose name is in capital letters on the movie poster. I’m part of the money making machine. So why bother and actually ask me something meaningful?”_

_There was a “mmh” from Viggo, a thoughtful sound indicating that he listened to Orlando’s ramblings and took them seriously._

“ _I guess I’m just tired of this whole circus.”_

“ _I understand,” Viggo answered and Orlando could almost feel him nod at his end of the conversation. “We will take a vacation once you’re done with_ Pirates _. You’ll see, you’ll enjoy it for the first two weeks. We’ll hide away in Idaho and you’ll have time to read those books you bought months ago. And then, one day, you’ll come to me and tell me you can’t take the quiet anymore.” Viggo chuckled, having experienced that circle with Orlando numerous times in the past._

“ _One day, it’ll be different,” Orlando stated with conviction. “One day I’ll not beg you to go back to L.A.”_

“ _Oh, I know that, don’t worry.” And Orlando marvelled once again at Viggo’s ability to give him as much time as he needed._

_They talked on, Orlando sprawled on the kingsize bed of his hotel suite, holding the phone to his ear tightly as if that alone would bring Viggo nearer to him. He talked about his impressions of the cities he had visited on his press tour and Viggo read him scribbles from his notebook. Orlando loved to hear Viggo’s poems so raw and unpolished, isolated lines that had no connection whatsoever. And they would talk and discuss and fit the lines together until they made sense._

“ _You’re tired,” Viggo said when it was nearing midnight on the alarm-clock next to Orlando’s bed._

“ _Had a long day.” He really should sleep, but he was reluctant to put down the phone._

“ _Me, too. We should get some sleep, yeah?”_

“ _Yeah.” But neither of the them ended the call. Instead, Orlando put the phone down on the empty cushion next to him._

“ _Night. I love you.”_

“ _Always,” Viggo answered and so they settled down, the line still open and Orlando stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the static buzz of the phone in the darkness of his hotel suite. And intermingled with that, if he concentrated really hard, he could hear Viggo breathe evenly._

~*~

The day was hot, almost unbearingly so. It was August and the heat was flaring, even here with plenty of water nearby. Originally, Orlando had wanted to work in the little garden he had created behind the house and Clay had needed to complete a rocking chair, but at ten in the morning both were drenched in sweat, accepting that they would not get any work done today. So instead, they decided to take a swim to cool down, enjoying how the water splashed and glittered in the sun. Afterwards, they put a blanket in the high grass, lying on it naked while they waited for the sun to dry their skin.

“Do you remember the day when I came here?” Orlando asked, his head now in Clay’s lap, looking up at the other’s face.

Clay nodded once and his mouth curved into a knowing smile. _Of course._

“I think the day was just as hot. Or that was me...” Orlando furrowed his brow, because actually, his own memory was a bit spotty.

He had been on his way back home from an interview he needed for one of his articles. Research. The reception on his cell was gone and his GPS seemed to lead him in circles. The forest had no end, it simply went on and on – without any settlements or roads crossing the one he was driving on. At that point he would have killed for a traffic sign, or even better an asphalt road. But so far there were only dirt roads and trees. A great many of them.

In hindsight he couldn’t even tell what had caused the accident, but from one moment to the next he found himself slumped in the seat, the seatbelt the only thing holding him up. He must have lost a few seconds there, because when he looked up he saw the front of the rental neatly folded around a tree, smoke coming up from its insides. Orlando fumbled with the seatbelt, his hands shaky and unsure, but in the end it must have worked because only a moment later he was outside, taking a deep breath of clear forest air. He cleaned his hands on his jeans and then stood and walked, never looking back at the ton of metal dying right behind him. He followed the road, deeper into the woods and not at all sure where it would lead him. He was not thinking rationally, the only signal his foggy brain sent to the rest of his body was _walk_. He did not question his brain’s decision, did not even realize the pounding in his head or his chafed hands. He simply put one foot in front of the other.

Orlando did not know how long he had been walking. Maybe a few minutes or maybe even hours, but at some point the trees gave way and there was a clearing, a house, a barn. Civilization.

He must have croaked a “help”, because a man appeared in the door of the barn, looking around puzzled. Orlando saw him coming closer, quickening his steps, and he was glad that he didn’t have to walk any further, that he had been found. He saw the look of horror on the other’s face and just when he was near enough for Orlando to see his striking blue eyes, the earth gave way under his feet and he felt himself falling without ever touching the ground.

Orlando woke slowly, like one did after a night with too many drinks, his mind clambering out of unconsciousness with obvious effort and he groaned, trying to remember what he had done to feel so abused. His head was pounding, a rhythmic throb pulsing behind his forehead and he felt the need for aspirin, lots of it.

Someone was shuffling around the room and he heard the sound of bare feet on wood, but he could not remember that he had taken anyone home with him last night. In fact, he did not even remember how he had gotten home himself. All was fuzzy cotton and it annoyed him.

Orlando opened his eyes experimentally to find himself in unknown surroundings. He was in a foreign room with simple yet cozy furnishings. There were some wildflowers on the bedside table and on the windowsill, giving the room a touch of colour. A man was standing against the window, holding a heap of clothes in his hands. Orlando did not recognize his features against the sun streaming in, but when he came nearer and Orlando saw the blue eyes, full of compassion, worry and assurance, the memory of the accident and his search for help came back to him.

He groaned, as much from pain as from the sudden recollection and the man was quick to ease his heart. Orlando felt a thumb brush against his forehead, stroking his brow lightly and then a hand grabbed his, holding tight. The man’s face was near to his own, a little unkempt and smelling of cigarette and fresh-cut wood, but then he smiled, a gentle smile, and the comfort this simple gesture gave Orlando nearly pushed him back into blessed unconsciousness. He managed to hold on for another moment, though.

“What’s your name?” he forced out in a voice that sounded alien to him.

The comforting touch left him and the man vanished from his line of vision only to be back a moment later, a book in his hands. He opened the first page, holding it close to Orlando’s face so that he would not need to move much.

A name and a date were scribbled inside, a plain ex-libris of sorts. _Clay_ , it said and Orlando never spared a thought for the strange manner in which the man had just introduced himself.

“I’m Orlando,” he croaked and then fell back asleep, not noticing that the gentle hand had come back to hold onto his with determination.

He slept through most of the following week, waking only for short moments. Always, Clay was there to welcome Orlando into the world of consciousness and to ease his way back to sleep. He offered Orlando water, its taste clear and refreshing as Orlando had never known before. He fed him apples, one peeled and cut piece after the other. He gave him pills for the pounding pain in his head. He helped him to the toilet even, but the fog in his brain kept him from feeling embarassed at the situation. Instead, he clung to Clay’s arm and rested his head on the other’s shoulder, feeling well and truly cared for. Clay’s help was always silent and it took Orlando’s clouded mind a few days to comprehend that Clay never spoke, that he was mute. The thought passed through Orlando’s mind just after Clay had placed a wet cloth upon his forehead to help with his headache. The coolness felt blessed and soon sleep took the place where his sudden realization had been before.

Once the periods of wakefulness started to at least draw even with the periods of deep sleep, he finally managed to thank Clay for his help, earning himself an indulgent smile but also a decisive shake of the head as if Clay did not believe he had done anything outstanding. Orlando assured Clay that he would be out of his hair soon, that it could only be a few days until he felt well enough to leave and that of course Clay could ask anything of Orlando as thanks for his help. But even as he said them, the words felt cheap to Orlando as if they would somehow belittle what Clay had done for him. And when the other man simply nodded in a way a parent would nod to a child to shut up the nonsense it was speaking, Orlando shut his mouth and blushed.

That night, his sleep was troubled, fearing the easy understanding between them was gone because he had chosen to kill it with petty words. But the next day, Clay acted as if nothing had ever happened, bestowing the same gentle care upon Orlando as he ever had. Time seemed to pass unbeknownst to him and Orlando let himself be swept away by the beauty of the forest, the serenity of the place, the calm he saw in Clay’s eyes. And soon he himself had forgotten that he had meant to leave, for in truth, he did not want to leave this reclusive paradise behind for the life he had lived before.

It was easy to fall in love with Clay. He regretted the other’s inability to speak only for a moment, because Clay had other ways to communicate. There were his eyes, blue and open – the most expressive eyes Orlando had ever seen. One could see sadness or happiness or puzzlement in the eyes of every human, but Clay’s eyes held so much more. It was as if his heart was always mirrored in his eyes and Orlando never tired of drowning in them, deciphering the stories Clay’s eyes had to tell him.

And then there was the fact that Clay relied on touch. At first, when Orlando had been ill, the touch was meant to give reassurance. Later, other meanings were added to his touches. Even during the very first weeks, when they had not yet slipped into the love they now felt for each other, Clay had never been shy to touch Orlando. He let his lips brush against Orlando’s temple as a sign of affection, he covered Orlando’s hand with his own to establish a connection between them, he curled Orlando’s hair around his finger whenever he felt like it. Where everyone else would keep a distance, Clay sought touch, contact, tactile sensation and through that, communication. For Orlando, who came from a big city where everyone kept their distance, Clay’s constant invasion of personal space should have felt intrusive, but he soon learnt that is was comforting as well.

Orlando had felt them drift towards each other for weeks, slowly but deliberately, until one night the inevitable finally happened. Clay had worked on a nightstand in the barn and Orlando had joined him, asking all sorts of questions. He was a man of the word, a journalist, and labour such as this was largely unknown to him. Clay had explained and answered, in his own unique way, and in the end he had shown Orlando how to shape a piece of wood into something beautiful. They had laughed and laboured and Orlando had been flushed from the unaccustomed activity. When they sat down for dinner once the sky darkened, Orlando felt a new kind of satisfaction. He knew the joy of seeing his own thoughts printed on the first page of a nationwide newspaper. But holding the fruit of his labour in his hands, so tangible and real – that was a new kind of high.

Clay seemed to share Orlando’s elated mood. Taking a deep drag from his cigarette he went over to the kitchen cupboard to get the old radio. The cigarette almost forgotten in the corner of his mouth, he twisted all the radio’s knobs and shook the poor thing until it came to life with a metallic shriek. Clay grinned, flipped the cigarette into the ashtray and placed the radio in the middle of the table.

He stood, reaching out his hand to Orlando and making an exaggerated bow. _Dance with me._

“All right,” Orlando answered, game for anything Clay might suggest. “But I’ll have you know, I’m a terrible dancer.”

Clay just shrugged, obviously not caring in the least about Orlando’s skill on the dancefloor. Instead, he took Orlando’s hand and swept him around with flourish. They improvised a few overly dramatic tango moves to the absolutely inappropriate slow jazz coming from the radio, which left Orlando in hysterics.

They danced until they were exhausted from the adventurous moves and the laughter, but still they did not want to part. Instead, they slowdanced to an old melancholic Ella Fitzgerald tune, cheek to cheek, hands wrapped around each other. They barely moved at all, save for a slight sway, and concentrated on each other’s breaths and heartbeats.

It was one of those special moments, Orlando thought, something precious and suspended in time. Everything made sense all at once and suddenly he realized that he would never leave this place.

It was then, in exactly the moment of Orlando’s epiphany, that Clay turned his head and began to nuzzle Orlando’s neck. He felt the sexual tension, the thrill of a kiss hanging in the air between them, but before he could prepare for it, Clay’s mouth was already on his own.

They kissed and it was slow and sensous, their bodies still swaying unconsiously to the music, their hands entwined, drawing the other near. Orlando tasted the cigarette smoke in Clay’s kiss, tasted his willingness, tasted how the unknown became familiar in a matter of breaths and it was all Orlando had hoped it to be: enticing, comforting, arousing, reassuring and he let himself be swept away right into Clay’s waiting embrace.

Clay ended the kiss, his face inches from Orlando’s, his eyes holding a silent question. _Do you want this?_

It was the first moment of hesitation Orlando had ever seen in the other man and he was glad that he could dissuade his doubt. He nodded, not daring to shatter this moment with words, and together they climbed the stairs to the bedroom, leaving the radio to play for an empty kitchen until the battery gave out.

The intensity of their lovemaking was almost frightening. Orlando, in his life before, had believed in money, his writing, his success. Love, friends, security had seemed like something that could only divert him from his path. There had been sex, of course: hurried fucks or blowjobs to take off the tension, but it had been nothing but a means to an end, to blow off steam and quieten his hormones.

The singlemindedness with which Clay made love to Orlando stole his breath away. He took his time, obviously determined to caress every patch of skin of Orlando’s body. Clay’s hands were rough, chapped, splintered from working with wood day in and day out. But when they ran up and down Orlando’s thighs, they felt like sculptor’s hands to him: sensitive, yet firm. And when Clay’s hands held him they shaped him into someone new, someone whole.

There was no rush, and they both found pleasure in the attempt to draw out their release for as long as possible. Both naked, they moved against each other, seeking friction while their tongues wound around each other, finding a rhythm that set them both on fire.

Orlando was too overwhelmed by the feelings flooding his body to be much more than a passive recipient of what was happening. But Clay had always taken care of him, making it easy for Orlando to simply enjoy his partner’s caresses.

He mewled and whimpered when Clay’s mouth closed around his nipple and he saw his partner smile in amusement at Orlando’s enthusiastic reaction. Orlando was panting by now and the heaving of his chest only caused Clay to intensify his labours.

Orlando felt the other’s finger brush against his entrance and desperately pushed upwards, wanting and craving the touch. The first finger entering him was slippery and for a short moment Orlando wondered where Clay had managed to get his hands on lube, but then coherent thought fled when the finger started to move inside him, stroking and stretching, deliberately missing the one spot that would let Orlando see stars.

He groaned in frustration and opened his eyes to see Clay grin mischievously at him. In respone, he pushed his hips up again, silently begging Clay to have mercy on him. Of course he did, and soon only Clay’s mouth on Orlando’s muffled the frantic moans of the younger man.

When Orlando was thoroughly prepared they rearranged their bodies, Clay spooning Orlando, his strong body molded protectively around Orlando’s slimmer frame. They could not look into each other’s eyes this way, but the feeling of belonging and trust made up for that in Orlando’s mind.

There was a slight burn when Clay pushed into Orlando for the first time, but soon the pain gave way to pleasure and his own cock screamed to be touched. As if Clay had read his mind, the older man closed his hand around Orlando’s hardness and stroked in time with his own movement. They rocked like this, their skin slick from sweat, and Orlando felt Clay against his back, a constant promise of love. Clay was kissing his cheek and neck until the man’s movemens lost their rhythm, becoming almost frantic. Orlando knew Clay was nearing orgasm and his own hand joined Clay’s on his cock in an attempt to come with him. He heard Clay’s breath right next to his ear and concentrated on that, bringing him nearer to completion. He tried to hear a sound from Clay, something that was not pure breath, how small or quiet or insignificant it might be, but there was none and Orlando closed his eyes, ready to soar.

Orlando had never known that it could be so easy, so natural, to be in love. They fell into a rhythm quickly, an endless repeat of work, joy, lovemaking, lassitude. Clay found an old typewriter in the deep recesses of the house, a monstrious thing that was heavy and difficult to handle. But Orlando took possession of it as if it was the most normal thing to write thrillers in the middle of nowhere on a sixty year old typewriter.

And this was how they had come to be there, at the banks of a river that widened into a small pond not far from where they were resting. It was their fourth summer together and Orlando could not imagine being elsewhere.

“You know, I’m so glad I had that accident,” he said, seemingly out of the blue.

Clay frowned, letting his fingers run over Orlando’s temple. _I’d rather you had been spared all that pain._

Orlando took Clay’s hand into his own, kissing the other’s palm. “But imagine if I had not crashed my car. I would never have ended up here, we would never have met. I would have gone back home, too busy to realize I was utterly alone, and I would never even have known what I had missed.” Orlando paused, growing thoughtful. “I think it was worth a little pain to find you,” he said finally and with determination.

However, if he thought about it, it was not only Clay he had found. Yes, he was the man he loved, more than he had ever thought possible. But by coming here, he had also found a life that gave him happiness and fulfillment. He did not even own an alarm clock anymore. There was no need for a car, a computer, a cell and giving up those things had freed Orlando. Freed him to be the person he desired to be. Freed him to be a man Clay could love.

Five years ago the thought of a day without appointments or deadlines would have made him jittery, feeling as if something was missing.Today, though, the thought of endless hours to fill with whatever he desired was welcome and normal. And somehow, not surprisingly, he wanted to spend the next hour giving Clay pleasure.

Orlando decided to give up lying comfortably in Clay’s lap. He turned and playfully pushed Clay backwards until he was flat on his back, Orlando straddling him with a triumphant smile.

“Prepare to be ravished,” he warned with a voice that was full of anticipation and mock seriousness and in respone Clay spread his arms wide on the ground, inviting Orlando to follow his words with actions.

Orlando loved Clay’s hard body, the muscle and strength it contained, and he let his hands roam the planes of the other man’s torso with wide strokes as if he was painting on a large canvas. Clay moved into the touch and Orlando heard his breath catch and quicken, the sound only urging him on. Sweat was beading on their bodies, making them slippery and Orlando let his tongue dip into Clay’s clavicle, tasting the man. The caress seemed to rob any coherent thought from Clay’s mind, his eyes half closed now while he dipped his head back to give Orlando better access. It was one of Clay’s weak spots as Orlando had found out early on, and he loved to see how Clay fell apart when he kissed him there.

His hand closed around Clay’s cock while his teeth still nibbed at the soft skin of Clay’s throat and he felt the other man grow hard in his grasp. He stroked the other’s erection and looked into Clay’s face. He was flushed from arousal, sweat beading on his upper lip and his mouth was opened as if on the brink of speaking.

When he noticed Orlando’s persual his eyes opened fully, sending a silent message Orlando understood instantly. _Take me. Make us fly._

Orlando’s eyes were fixed on the silent _oh_ of Clay’s mouth, watching how he exhaled with every stroke of Orlando’s hand on his cock. He was mesmerized by those little puffs of air he could not see, so he bent down, hovering above Clay’s mouth and inhaling deeply before he kissed the older man passionately.

They knew each other so well, kissing was like snuggling into one’s favourite blanket – the caress gave comfort and warmth in equal measure. Orlando was about to lose himself in the kiss when he felt Clay’s hand on his ass, massaging the buttocks and drawing them nearer together.

He felt blindly for the lube that was lying somewhere in the grass around them, never losing contact with Clay’s mouth even though he felt his lover smile into the kiss, amused by Orlando’s frantic search. He was successful at last and broke the kiss, raising an eyebrow and holding up the tube triumphantly.

Clay chuckled silently while Orlando coated his fingers and went down Clay’s body to prepare him. He sat between Clay’s legs, one of his favourite spots. Orlando observed Clay’s reaction while his fingers found their way, exploring. He loved that man; like a sun god he seemed to him in that moment: tanned and with golden hair, sweat running in little rivulets down his sides, his head thrown back in sudden rapture. Orlando needed to mark him as his, leave a stamp on his lover’s body and soul, so he leaned down, covering Clay’s body with his own, linking them together.

They kissed while Orlando pushed repeatedly into the well-loved heat of Clay’s body, but then Orlando simply let his head fall forward, upping their tempo.

“Talk to me,” he whispered right into Clay’s ear as if they were sharing a secret message. And after a while, when their passion was nearing its peak, he heard it. Tiny sounds, almost insubstantial between Clay’s loud breathing, but the older man had his mouth right next to Orlando’s ear and so Orlando did not miss any of it.

It was only in those moments, when Orlando made love to Clay, that he ever heard his voice. To hear Clay like this, however rough or ragged the sound, made him want to weep, for to him every moan was _I love you_ , _I need you_ , _Never leave,_ and no one else would ever hear them from Clay.

He felt Clay go rigid beneath him with a strangled sound and this final message, _Come with me_ , was one he could not deny. And so he did, spending his seed in his lover’s body and falling boneless into the grass next to him.

They did not care about the sweat or the sticky remnants of their lovemaking, they could always hop into the water to clean up and cool down their bodies. So they were simply lying on the blanket, arms and legs spread wide, letting the sun beat down on them as if they were the only two people in the world.

~*~

_For a moment, Orlando thought the splashing he heard was the water of the river at whose banks they had made love, but the more his mind ascended from sleep the more he realized that this sounded nothing like water bubbling over stone._

_He opened his eyes and his first look went to the alarm clock on the nightstand: The digits read 5:47 and the time should have made him groan, but he felt well rested for a change. The sound of water still filled his ears, but somehow it sounded strange. And then he realized it: His phone had become tangled in the sheets and he had to fumble and unknot the blankets until he held the cell in his hand. He smiled when he realized that the line was still open, had been for 7 hours and 22 minutes as the display informed him, and that the sound of running water obviously came from Viggo._

_It stopped abruptly and was replaced by clinks and shuffles, and then even more running water. Into Viggo’s obvious morning routine he said “Morning, love,” and the sounds stopped. There was silence on the other end until the shuffling resumed and Orlando chuckled to himself, realizing that Viggo apparently had the same problem hunting down his cell phone he’d had only a few minutes before._

“ _Morning.” The response took a while and even then it sounded less than awake. When Orlando had first met Viggo in New Zealand he had thought him a morning person for some reason. He was always punctual, always immaculately prepared however early it might be and Orlando had loathed and envied him in equal measure for it. But only after a few days of sharing Viggo’s bed Orlando had realized that his assumption could not be further from the truth. Viggo was a heavy sleeper, hated early mornings and had to get up nearly two hours before an appointment to have time to infuse himself with enough coffee to get going._

_Orlando had to smile at the gruff voice greeting him. “Slept well?”_

“ _Until the alarm went off.” Viggo went silent for a moment. “Did I wake you?”_

“ _Yeah, all the splashing walrus-sounds kinda woke me from a most pleasant dream,” Orlando mock-whined._

“ _Will you tell me?” Viggo sounded hopeful, his voice suddenly a lot more alert._

“ _Mhm, maybe,” Orlando teased. “But not over the phone. Let’s wait until we see each other next. Because I think a re-enactment would be much better than a simple telling of the tale.” Nowadays, Orlando did not think twice about sharing his dreams and fantasies with Viggo. It had not been like this from the beginning, of course, and Orlando could still vividly remember his mortal embarassment when Viggo had found him in front of the tv, hand down his pants, loudly urging the Master Chief on screen on to fuck him harder. It had taken a lot of coaxing and talking to realize that all of Viggo’s roles had somehow left their mark on the older man and that it was, therefore, not at all inappropriate to find them sexy. As things stood now, Orlando could hardly wait to let Viggo in on his Clay-fantasy._

“ _Now you really make me curious,” Viggo grumbled good-naturedly._

“ _All the better! You did promise me Idaho yesterday, didn’t you?”_

“’ _Course. As soon as you’re done with press for_ Pirates _.”_

“ _Then book a flight for July, lover!” Orlando ordered, thinking of the little stream behind Viggo’s house. It would be perfect for what he had in mind._

_\- The End_

_(July 2007)_


End file.
